


Calibrations, An Inquiry

by FasterPuddyTat



Series: A Brief Interlude in Red and Blue [6]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Mass Effect 2, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 02:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20574788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FasterPuddyTat/pseuds/FasterPuddyTat
Summary: That Garrus and his calibrations...





	Calibrations, An Inquiry

The door sighs at her approach, it knows its captain  
Commander, she would correct but  
The ship knows.

Sigh at her step over my threshold  
I have no more words so I say,  
Can it wait for a bit?  
I’m in the middle of some calibrations.  
_I think about you in the silence between stars._  
_I trace your curves in the red mist recoil._  
_I cut myself on the edges of your rage._

She leaves without a sound.  
The door closes and  
I am left with a screen, flickering icons and accusing percentages  
They ask  
Why don’t you tell her?  
You rehearse the lines, taste the words for balance again and again  
Not too sweet  
Nor too tart.  
We have heard them a thousand times over.  
Why don’t you tell her?  
_I witnessed horror at your side_  
_I watched you shoot light into the darkness._  
_I fell when you rose from the ashes._

My fingers dance their brittle tattoo on the console  
Eyes burning and throat dry because  
Her scent has reached me.  
Machine oil and canned air  
Powder soap, galley grease  
And her.  
An iron tang, a whiff of salt, the hint of earthy spice.  
I close my eyes to better see myself  
_I press your skin._  
_I lift your weight._  
_I part_

Inhale.  
Exhale.  
Shake it off, three hours before shift change.  
Firing algorithms, targeting assists,  
I’d increase the accuracy of both if I could only  
Forget.

I don’t have the words yet.  
There is a wall, a physical separation the  
Deeds, undone.  
Names carved into metal, into spirit,  
Restless dead clamoring  
Do not forget us.  
Avenge us.  
Ten good men with children and friends who believed in the fight but what’s left…  
What’s left when you’re right?

1800\. Lights out.  
Eat a dry bar on the cot near the warmth of the gun.  
A chaser of brandy, thin blanket for one.  
I wait for the dreams.  
They always come.

You rise from ashes to stand on extinction.  
I fall without knowing until it’s too late.  
The breaking news, you're lost on Alchera.  
I heard you had died and was surprised to find so had I.  
So had I.

I don’t have the words yet.  
She calls and I answer at her back in cold terror,  
Each mission parents and daughters and sons  
Cut down for their colors, a paycheck, a dream?  
Lost count of the lives we’ve taken; their weight’s begun to lessen  
And that scares me, but when they fire I return sixfold because  
They won’t take her from me.

Because I don’t have the words yet.  
There were choices to make, schedules to run  
Only so many hours in a day, a week, a game  
So choices were made  
Defaults were set  
Schedules were drawn and deadlines… stretched.  
And when she comes after a mission, tired and sore or  
Early in the morning, fresh and new or  
Late at night, tipsy, hopeful… all I can say is  
Shepard, can it wait for a bit?  
I’m in the middle of some calibrations.  
_I love you_  
_I love you_  
_I love you_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my thoroughly self-indulgent slip of poetry! I've lost my writing focus these last few weeks, intimidated by the scope of my intentions and perhaps a bit cowed by recent life and media events. This weekend reminded me how good it feels to make something, though, even if it's not perfect.


End file.
